


the world is full of magic things

by taizi



Series: lead me always upward [3]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen, M/M, im still relatively new here so i reserve the right to write tired tropes, more of this series bcus its my new fave thing, sorry if this trope is a little tired by now, ty for understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: Susumu's fingers sneak out and find the hem of Satoru's jacket and make a fist around it, holding tight.He peeks at Satoru from under his unruly hair, brown eyes pleading. He whispers, “There's a monster in the corner.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”  
> ― W.B. Yeats

Satoru all but throws the doors wide open, ready to steamroll past anyone standing in his way, toddler or not—but that turns out not to be necessary, because the colorful little classroom is cleared but for a woman and a messy-haired little boy sitting on opposite sides of a small table.

The phone call Satoru received at work was an innocuous “Your son is having a difficult day, we think it might be best if you came,” but somehow just _that_ was enough to light little fires of panic up and down Satoru's brain. He barely remembered to tell his supervisor he was taking an early lunch before he was running out the door.

Now he lets go of a relieved sigh, and crosses the room at a more sedate pace than he burst into the school with. He greets the teacher and receives a polite greeting in turn, and then claims a seat on the cushion at Susumu's side.

“You okay, Suchan?”

Normally the nickname is enough to earn Satoru an annoyed scowl or Takashi a sunny smile—both are adorable, honestly, which might be why Satoru teases him so much—but this time Susumu doesn't even lift his head. His fringe hangs into his eyes and his shoulders tremble, and the tearful noise he makes when Satoru puts an arm around him makes Satoru want to cry, too.

“Susumu, you gotta talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong, right?”

It's reminiscent of when they first met, when Satoru was a stranger trying to convince this smart, disenchanted little person to trust him, despite where trusting adults had gotten him so far.

But whole years sit between then and now, and after barely a minute, Susumu's fingers sneak out and find the hem of Satoru's jacket and make a fist around it, holding tight.

He peeks at Satoru from under his unruly hair, brown eyes pleading. He whispers, “There's a monster in the corner.”

Satoru jerks his head up automatically, craning to look over his child's head at the wall behind them. There's nothing but a tidy little nook of picture books and plush toys, but Susumu is shuddering against him, and his eyes are forced forward, as though he's truly terrified to turn around.

And Satoru tightens his grip on the kid, thinking a hundred panicked things all at once.  _He can see them?_ _Since when?_ and  _Has he been in danger all this time?_ and, maybe worst of all,  _Is it our fault that this is happening to him? Is there something Takashi and I did wrong, is it something he picked up from being around us and sensei, is this because I messed up somewhere?_

He's silent, mind racing, staring at a spot on that empty wall, and the boy beside him misconstrues the silence. 

“It's there,” Susumu says. There are tears slipping down his cheeks. “It's really there.”

He's braced for rejection, of all things. All but wilting under his teacher's gently disapproving expression and his guardian's imagined anger, and still clinging to the truth he knows with both hands.

And looking at him, Satoru wonders how any parent could brush off a child's fear; in the middle of the night, or in the middle of a storm, when it's dark and the house makes odd noises and they feel unsafe. He wonders how his own mother did it—remembers Kiyoshi spending his own allowance at nine years old on a nightlight for his little brother, because their mother was convinced “he'll get over it on his own.”

He wonders how Takashi's countless foster families did it, when the unwanted, orphaned child put in their care cried because something scary followed him home, because something scary came through the window, because something scary kept calling his name. 

Satoru wonders how they did it, because he knows _he_ can't.

Even if there isn't a monster in the corner, there might as well be one. Susumu is _scared_.

“Thank you for calling me,” Satoru says to the teacher sitting patiently across from them. It's the only thing he can think of to thank her for. He's mostly grown out of picking fights right and left, but sometimes the urge sits at the front of his mind, and he has to grapple for something polite to say in lieu of a more honest barb. “We have a lot to talk about, so I'm going to just take him home.”

Susumu scrambles up after him when he climbs to his feet, trading his grip on Satoru's shirt for a hold on his hand. He's almost underfoot as they leave the classroom, clinging close to Satoru's side all the way down the hall, up until they step outside into the noonday sun.

It's only then that he dares look back over his shoulder, as if checking to see whether or not they were followed. Satoru can't help but look, too.

“Is it still there?”

“No, I don't see it anymore,” Susumu whispers. Then his eyes widen, and he jerks his head back to stare up at Satoru with round, painfully hopeful eyes. “You believe me? About the monster? My teacher said I was lying. She said it wasn't nice to make up stories that scared the other kids.”

Satoru can't help it. He stoops and plucks Susumu right up off the ground, hugging him hard. “Well, your teacher doesn't know you like I do. She can't help it—not everybody's as lucky as me.”

“But you really believe me?” Susumu stresses, hands clutching the collar of Satoru's jacket.

Satoru thinks of Takashi trembling in the rain, pleading _“I can explain,”_ and says, “Of course I do, Susumu. Why do you think we left so fast?”

It takes a minute for that to sink in, but even an hour would have been worth it. Susumu's whole face lights up, and his gap-toothed smile is the most precious thing Satoru's ever seen, and he throws his arms around Satoru's neck and squeezes tight.

Satoru walks the rest of the way to the car he left parked haphazardly by the curb with his kid heavy against his chest.

His arms ache by the time they get there, but it's a good ache. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

“Are we going to tell papa?” Susumu asks in a small voice, when they're a little more than halfway home. He sounds more worried than a kid his age should be capable of, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I don't know if he'll believe us.”

“Oh, Suchan.” Satoru grins helplessly at the direction his life is going, equal parts amused and completely out of his depth. “I think you'll be surprised by what Takashi's willing to believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've seen lots of "natsume grows up and finds a child who can also see yokai and adopts them" and i love it and i've decided to toss my hat in the same ring, sorry


	2. Chapter 2

Satoru has witnessed Takashi get angry before, or so he _thought._

But the look on his face when he hears what Satoru has to tell him about what led to a phone call from Susumu's teacher—when he sees Susumu sitting on the sofa with his head hung low, arms curled tightly around his knees—is almost unfamiliar.

He's never seen Takashi's eyes go quite so cold.

“He's pretty shaken up,” Satoru adds unnecessarily, sotto voce, as he glances toward the living room. “He was worried what you would say.”

“I see.” Takashi's voice is next to normal when he says, “Sensei? Would you mind?”

“ _Finally_ you get around to asking,” the fortune cat replies, climbing to its feet with a lot less fight than Satoru is used to when a chore is involved. Its eyes gleam a cold green, like the hard edge of a jewel. “I haven't gone hunting in quite some time.”

“Find out what it's doing here. It if it meant no harm, leave it be,” Takashi says, opening the kitchen window for Nyanko-sensei to climb through. “But if it tried to hurt my child, then I'll let you decide what should be done with it.”

Nyanko-sensei's feline grin stretches into something meanly pleased. He pauses on the sill, looking over his shoulder at the sad figure the youngest member of their household makes on the sofa, and says, “I'll take care of it, brat.”

“Be quick.”

Takashi leaves the window open just a crack when his cat is gone, watching it go until its out of sight.

And because Satoru knows him, he scoots a step closer to Takashi and reaches for his hand. Takashi turns in surprise, glancing down at their hands as Satoru winds their fingers together, and Satoru tells him, “You've probably already come up with like twelve ways to make this all your fault, but we literally don't even know what happened yet.”

Takashi has the good grace to look a little abashed. Heartened by the reaction where part of him was worried he'd be met with an emotional recluse, Satoru walks backwards towards the living room and pulls his husband with him, smiling crookedly.

“And I think we've left Susumu hanging long enough, huh?”

Hearing his name, Susumu lifts his head when they come in. His eyes are wide and wary as his guardians sit down on either side of him, little fingers digging into fists in his jeans, but he doesn't shy away.

“Where's Nyanko-sensei?” he whispers.

“Takashi sent him on an errand,” Satoru says easily, smoothing a hand through Susumu's tousled hair. “He has to earn his keep somehow, right?”

Susumu blinks, unsure what to make of that, and looks up at Takashi tentatively when the man puts an arm around his skinny shoulders. Takashi smiles down at him with a warmth that seems to soften the whole room, melting the tension out of Susumu's body like magic.

“I heard about what happened,” he says gently. “That must have been really scary. Are you alright?”

Satoru has been on the receiving end of that smile and that tone before, and so he knows it's relief or gratitude or a desperate desire to be deserving that's filling little Susumu's eyes with tears now.

“I really saw it,” he says earnestly, abandoning his white-knuckled grip on the knees of his jeans to reach for Takashi's hand where it rests on his own shoulder instead, “ _really._ It sat in the back of the class for _hours_ and watched us play. No one believed me, but it was _really_ _there._ ”

“I know it was.” Takashi trades a weighted look with Satoru over Susumu's head, and says slowly, “But this was the first time you've seen it, right? Did something happen on your way to school? Did you see something odd, or—have a strange conversation with someone?”

Susumu blinks wetly, considering the question. He starts to shake his head, then pauses. “My arm started to hurt, but only for a little bit.”

That has both the adults' attention instantly.

“Where on your arm, buddy?” Satoru asks, already reaching for the zipper of his hoodie. Susumu reluctantly leans away from Takashi's arm to help get rid of the sweatshirt, pulling his left arm free of its sleeve a little gingerly.

“Up here,” he says, reaching for a spot on his upper arm squarely between shoulder and elbow. “When I saw that monster in the classroom I forgot about my arm, but it kind of feels like a bruise.”

As far as Satoru can see, the length of Susumu's arm is unblemished, but Takashi goes stiff the moment the long sleeve of the boy's T-shirt is pushed up out of the way

“What do you see?” Satoru demands, used to picking apart the minute nuances of Takashi's expressions and stringing them into meaning. “What's there?”

Susumu is twisting his arm to see, and gives a little gasp. “There _is_ a bruise. But where did it come from? I didn't bump my arm on anything on the way to school.”

A clatter in the kitchen draws Satoru's head up sharply, but Takashi doesn't look away from the boy between them, gaze furrowed. “Sensei,” he says, “come here and look at this.”

The cat waddles in agreeably, not a whisker out of place, and Satoru has to wonder just how well his 'hunt' went if he returned so quickly. With a scowl, he says, “You better not be slacking, cat.”

Nyanko-sensei gives him a narrow-eyed glare, and jumps heavily into his lap just to elicit a winded _oof._

Takashi ignores their antics and Satoru's wounded wheezing to direct the cat's attention to Susumu's arm. “Tell me what this is, please.”

“That's a curse,” the cat grumbles, back arching as he presses his nose to Susumu's arm. Susumu jumps in surprise, probably more at the very human voice coming from the fat cat he cuddles with every night than the touch of a wet nose, and stares at Nyanko-sensei with wide eyes. “That rotten ayakashi must have gotten a whiff of your power while Suchan was walking to school and decided to leave a mark on him to get your attention, Natsume. It probably wanted to lure you out to eat you.”

“What's the point?” Satoru demands. “What's the curse do? Is he going to be okay?”

“I feel okay,” Susumu chimes in, enchanted by the talking cat. His fear is largely forgotten in favor of wonder, a delighted smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reaches to pet the fortune cat in its favorite spot behind the ears, and that's probably what Takashi had intended all along. “I didn't know you could talk, Nyanko-sensei!”

“I can do anything, brat,” the cat says gruffly, leaning fondly into the child's small hand. “And the curse is a weak one—it's already breaking beneath the barrier, and my light will finish the job.”

The barrier was one that Nyanko-sensei created in the weeks before Susumu came to live with them permanently, one that left him drained for days after its completion. It's strong enough that Takashi has to go to the rooftop to return names, and maybe they took for granted that sense of safety.

“But what's the _point,_ ” Satoru stresses, hands folded into fists. “What does the curse _do_?”

“It makes him _see_ , obviously,” the cat snaps back. “The intent of a curse like this is to make the victim go mad, but it was the wrong one to inflict on Suchan, here—whose family is composed of the least likely people in this city to call him crazy for seeing impossible things. An upper class yokai, a fool with remarkable spiritual power, and an even bigger fool who could have lived a mundane life and instead chose to marry into _this_ mess.”

Takashi splutters something that sounds like “we aren't technically _married_ , sensei, _honestly_ ” but Satoru didn't miss the grudging affection in the yokai's haughty tone.

Susumu pulls Nyanko-sensei into his lap, with what looks like no qualms about cuddling even now that he knows it can talk. Children his age are generally more excepting of strangeness, Satoru knows from experience. Even children as disillusioned as Susumu.

“When the bruise goes away, I'll be all better?”

“Yes you will,” Takashi says immediately. There's a faraway look in the back of his eyes that Satoru _hates,_ one that speaks of self-recrimination that it's going to take Satoru ages to undo, but his smile is present and warm. “I promise.”

Susumu pets the family cat for a moment, thoughtful. “But there will still be monsters, even if I can't see them?”

“We'll ask Uncle Tanuma to make you a new omamori,” Satoru assures him. “He's a big fancy priest now, he knows what he's doing.”

“And Nyanko-sensei will go with you to school from now on,” Takashi adds, with a meaningful look at the cat. It sighs, trying to look put-upon, but Satoru thinks it probably would have followed Susumu to school after this on its own, anyway. “We'll keep the monsters away.”

Susumu hugs the fat fortune cat, and leans back into Takashi's side, and smiles widely at Satoru—a far cry from the shaken, tearful little boy Satoru picked up from school earlier. An even farther cry from the silent shell of a person Satoru first met four years ago, battered and betrayed and by no means broken.

“Okay,” Susumu says, with only a small idea how big a gift he's giving them. “I believe you.”

 


End file.
